


Solace

by Accal1a



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eichen | Echo House, Episode: s03e20 Echo House, F/M, Hostage Situation, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accal1a/pseuds/Accal1a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspective Stiles for the latter part of his stay in Eichen House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the episode as closely as I could do it. Obviously all thoughts Stiles had were my own interpretation.
> 
> This entire fic is because of Stiles' 'not quite word' he uses when Malia asks him if the lines fading on his back is bad.

“Can you do me a favour? Can you just check the lines on my back; just tell me if they’re fading?”

“Yeah, they’re almost gone.”

Stiles stilled, his hand on his shoulder, vaguely pointing at his neck. It was probably good that he was facing away from Malia, he didn’t really know the girl; but even a complete stranger would have been able to see the look of grief which he couldn’t quite stop from crossing his face.

Logically, he knew that this moment was going to come. Deaton had said that the Lichen was only going to last so long; but the harsh reality of it was still difficult to comprehend. How long did he have? Hours? Minutes? Was it only Seconds? When was he going to lose control again; be locked up in his own mind; forced to watch the atrocities that the Nogitsune wrought? Would he get any warning that it was going to happen or would it just be like falling asleep again?

He hoped that Eichen House would hold it; but he knew there was a distinct possibility that it would still get out. Stiles didn’t want to die; but it that was what it took, then he welcomed it. He wondered if he’d have the strength to do it himself; wondered whether he’d be able to face his own death so as not to cause the death of countless others. Going out on the coldest night of the year had been pretty smart afterall, even if he’d done it subconsciously. If he could attempt to save lives in his sleep then surely he could do it whilst he was awake too. He wasn’t stupid; he knew the body count that the fox spirit was responsible for had to at least be in double figures by now.

Although attempting suicide in a mental institution would be pretty difficult, he knew he was resourceful enough to come up with something. Maybe letting Marin inject him with Pancuronium Bromide was the best course of action after all. 

“I take it that’s bad?” Malia continued, unaware of Stiles’ run-on thoughts.

The noise Stiles made didn’t quite graduate into a word.

How was he supposed to explain how terrified he was about his dad; and how concerned he was that his best friend might have to kill him (if he couldn't do the deed himself)? What would that do to Scott?

He could still hear the squelch that the sword made when he pushed it into Scott's stomach; hear the gasp of pain Scott involuntarily gave; and feel the glee that the Nogitsune took in it all. More than anything else that it had done, inflicting pain on Scott given it the most joy – probably because it affected Stiles so much.

The phrase 'crying inside' never meant so much as it did in that moment. He railed, pleaded, bargained, and in the end just took to screaming; hoping that would at least break the monster's focus. Nothing worked. When it had sucked the pain from Scott, Stiles worried that the thing would continue it's torture, worried that it may even kill him. All because he didn't have a strong enough will to fight it off. Everyone was going to die and it was all his fault for not working out how to close his mind like Scott and Allison had. He was supposed to be the smart one, so why couldn't he figure this out?

A cold, soft, touch on his back brought his swirling thoughts to a stand still and he jerked away slightly. He'd forgotten momentarily that Malia was even there.

She seemed to think his reaction was due to her hands though, so at least that was a small mercy – he didn't think he had the energy to try and unpack his thoughts, it would be too much to explain.

“Sorry, I told you I'm always cold.” Malia said, looking down at her hands and seeming to shrink into herself.

“It's okay.” Stiles replied. 

On an impulse, he took Malia's hands in his own. He hoped to warm them, to do something good with his hands before he inevitably got them bloody again either figuratively or literally.

“Here." He paused as he savoured the human contact. "Wow, you really are.”

She _was_ cold but the difference in their temperatures grounded him, gave him something to focus on other than his running thoughts.

When she looked over at him, he saw something in her, a spark, a longing to be close to him too. Maybe they could take comfort in each other for the moment. She was hurting too, there was no denying that. Two people, unsure of where they fit in due to outside circumstances, thrust together to give each other support. It could be worse.

She kissed him.

He had only a moment's notice that she was going to do so, and it startled him so much that his eyes remained open. When his brain caught up with what was happening, he closed them and revelled in the kiss. It was born of desperation for closeness but it was soft and lacked the urgency he thought would be a part of it.

It was over quickly and he knew his face scrunched up with confusion when she pulled away. Less than a second later though, his detective brain kicked in. Now really wasn't the time; but he hadn't worked out how to turn it off in his seventeen years of life . Now didn't seem like the time it was going to start.

“Was that your first kiss?”

Malia nodded, looking slightly bashful.

Stiles was suddenly struck with the thought that if that was her first kiss, it would set the bar for all future kisses. A crushing sense of concern that he had failed yet another person nearly drowned him.

“Was it okay?”

Malia nodded and Stiles felt a rush of relief. He knew he was being ridiculous; that on the list of things that should be worrying him, his prowess was very far down; and yet everything that happened in his final hours was suddenly desperately important. 

He'd never had much luck with girls. Having an obsession with Lydia since the third grade made him both blind to other girls; and also blind to any cues girls showed him. He'd been shocked to find out Erica fancied him; and Heather suddenly pouncing on him at her birthday party had been so surprising he hadn't had time to think whether it was okay or not.

This seemed different though. This was a life preserver when he was drowning and whilst he didn't want to use Malia, he did feel that maybe she was in the same boat. That and she'd clearly shown she could hold her own if he did anything wrong. His cheek still smarted slightly from where she'd punched him earlier that day.

“Want to try it again?”

He wasn't sure where his new-found boldness was coming from; but he'd take it. If this was his last day, he'd take anything he could to make him happy. Maybe kissing Malia would help him forget, just for a moment, that he was doomed.

It didn't work out like that though.

Kissing Malia was perfect. They seemed to fit together and all other thoughts were blown away. When she fisted his shirt in her hands to pull him closer he obediently deepened the kiss, thoughts skittering away as he did so. It was a shame that he was going to die. This was right. This was good and he could have done this forever.

He knew he pouted when she pulled way, knew he had a slightly hurt look on his face, but he couldn't help it. Maybe she hadn't felt the connection he had, hadn't seen stars and got that funny jolt in her stomach that he'd only read about before now. Maybe this didn't mean anything to her. Maybe he was actually just a bad kisser. Maybe he was going to get punched again afterall.

“I want to try something else.” She said, moving away slightly but still staying in close proximity.

Stiles took that as a good sign but was confused. “Something else?”

Malia pulled off her top. 

Stiles was surprised, narrowing his eyes slightly until comprehension dawned. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

The question must have been written all over his face because she replied softly to it anyway. “Yeah.” She even nodded for good measure.

He leant in again for a kiss, cupping her face in his hands, trying to convey with the soft action that he was 100% onboard with her forwardness. 

He supposed living as a coyote for years she'd probably had sex before and maybe even born pups, so he was fully aware that he might be the only virgin in the room. He was determined to do it 'right' in that case. This wasn't being jumped in a wine cellar. This was definitely a closeness he'd not felt before and he wanted to savour every moment.

Malia arched her back to wiggle her body under his while they deepened the kiss. He pulled back to check she was okay. She was shivering slightly and Stiles carefully cupped her face again and kissed her soundly but softly.

The sense of urgency to just feel as many sensations as possible before he was taken, was gone. He wanted to enjoy this, wanted her to enjoy it too.

He kissed her neck, something he'd researched was a good thing to do and was rewarded with a shiver he didn't think was due to the cold. After that, he linked hands with her and kissed her until she was making adorable noises. The noises turned to small growls after a while and he moved things along to their inevitable conclusion.

~~~

Stiles didn't feel any different; but maybe that came later. All he knew was that lying on the musty old sofa, both of them re-clothed, he'd not been this happy in a while. Malia seemed to fit perfectly into his arms and he liked the sensation of holding her, the closeness of another human being. He wondered if this was the last time he'd get to have that. Malia's body tensed and she got up seemingly at random. Stiles was startled for a moment; but there was something in the way she said his name that made him get up too.

When she knocked on the wall they'd stared at earlier and it echoed, Stiles was searching for something to bash the wall in even before she'd raised a questioning glance.

Attacking the wall was cathartic. Every bit of worry, upset, fear and anger at the situation was taken out on that wall. He didn't even care if anyone heard him, he'd like Brunski to try to take him down the mood he was in. This wall was now the embodiment of all that was wrong with the world. This wall was now the fox spirit and he was taking it to pieces, smashing that stupid kanji into dust.

The body was a shock.

For a split-second he thought his rage had brought the Nogitsune forth into being. He quickly realised though that this body was old and skeletal, which didn't make a huge amount of sense.

It was Malia who reached into the gap he had made with his anger. He wanted to stop her, worried that even a body with the face of his tormentor might be harmful; but nothing happened when she rummaged through the pockets, so he let out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.

When she handed him an old photograph he nearly dropped it in shock. He recognised Kira, which made absolutely no sense. When he turned the photograph over, it had a scrawled year on it. How was Kira in a photo from seventy years ago? Had he been right to be mistrustful of her? Was he going to have a chance to tell Scott about this before the Nogitsune took over his body again? 

He thought he may have said something to that effect when a pain unlike any he'd ever felt jolted through him. He crashed to the floor, still holding the picture and twitching.

“You took Brunski's keys. I took his stun gun.”

Despite the pain coursing through his body, Stiles' mind was going at full speed. The overriding thought was that perhaps letting a mental patient into their plan had been a bad idea after all. Who knew?

Malia didn't move quickly enough and she fell to the floor twitching similarly when Oliver jabbed the stun gun into her midriff.

Stiles tried a few times to get his words out but the spasms kept cutting him off. 

Eventually, he managed to get out a strangled “Oliver, what...?” which, Stiles thought, was probably all he wanted to know anyway. 

What the hell was Oliver thinking? Why had he suddenly decided to attack him and Malia?

“I also got his Haldol.”

As Oliver was saying it, he stabbed the syringe into Malia's thigh, causing her to slump bonelessly against the wall.

“It's like I was saying Stiles, I heard they used to do trepanation here.”

Hadn't Stiles read somewhere that you had to keep saying the name of your attacker? Something about it grounding them and giving them a sense of humanity? Had his dad told him that? Maybe that didn't work in situations where the person was actually mentally ill. They may all be in this madhouse but only one of them was presumably put there for human reasons.

“Oliver, what are you doing?”

He supposed it was worth one last go. The aftershocks seemed to be wearing off, maybe he'd be able to take Oliver down shortly.

When Oliver picked up a drill – and why the hell was their a weapon lying around where any nutcase could pick it up? - Stiles stilled as much as he could, fearing to move in case he provoked an attack.

“I'm gonna let the evil spirits out.”

Well he wasn't wrong, Stiles thought, moments before he too was drugged into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this. I'm so pleased I managed to prompt myself - or I suppose that Dylan O'Brien managed to prompt me by acting so lost in that scene.

Stiles woke to a fluffy head but no other side-effects that he could tell. 

Just how incompetent was Brunski that he managed to lose his keys, stun gun and two doses of Haldol? Shouldn't orderlies be paying a bit more attention? Was he going to die from an overdose? How many doses of Haldol could you have before it had a detrimental effect on your health? Was Oliver going to unwittingly end up doing the dirty work for him? And what the hell _was_ Haldol anyway?

He sought out Oliver; and was about to once again enquire just what he thought he was doing, when the deranged boy's voice broke the silence.

“I borrowed a few pointers from the five-point restraint.”

It was only then that Stiles realised he was tied to a chair. He pulled at the cuffs pinning him down, nothing that they had very little give to them as he did so.

“Oliver, stop this.”

If he just kept repeating his name, kept him human, maybe they'd both get out of this.

Oliver's answer seemed to be a protracted coughing fit.

Stiles wondered how long him and Malia would have to be down here before anyone realised they were missing. Though considering the pretty epic levels of idiocy in the management of the instiution, he wasn't holding out much hope they'd be saved by a random spot-check. Malia was strong though, maybe she could overpower Oliver when she woke up. Stiles glanced over at her. She wasn't restrained but she was still passed out. Stiles supposed that if she was given the same dose as him, she'd be out for longer, unless werecoyotes body chemistry was different to that of a human girl. In fact who knew how that worked, he could be on his own for mere minutes or several hours.

With a last hacking cough, Oliver stopped and looked down at his hand. Was that blood Stiles could see? Stiles didn't know what was possessing Oliver to do this; but he did know that people coughing up blood was bad. Wasn't it tuberculosis that made people cough up blood? Could TB cause you to go mad – more than Oliver was already?

Oliver had stopped coughing and was now holding the drill. Advancing on Stiles caused Stiles to attempt to squirm away. He didn't know what he was trying to achieve by doing so. He was securely fastened to a chair, the thrashing about he'd done in the beginning proved that without a doubt. Tilting his head away from the drill seemed like the last act of a desperate man. Which, he supposed, was what he was.

_Start with her._

He was pretty certain that the voice was in his head. Craning his head towards where he thought the voice had come from (and how did that work?), he was pretty certain the bandage-wrapped madman was also just a hallucination. Although when his brain had decided that ‘just’ a hallucination was a viable thought he wasn’t sure. 

Surely hallucinations were a sign of madness even if you _didn’t_ live in Beacon Hills. Maybe this was all just in his head anyway. Perhaps he’d been put in Eichen House because he had actually been hurting people and there was absolutely no supernatural presence in the town at all. Maybe werewolves weren’t real either. Maybe all this time he’d just been mentally ill.

Like his mother.

His head hurt and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to work out whether he was sane or not at that precise moment in time. 

When Oliver started advancing on a still passed out Malia, Stiles decided to just jump in with it - If it wasn’t real then she wouldn’t be hurt anyway, if it _was_ then perhaps he could do something to stop it.

He addressed the hallucination with indignation. “You did this? You got into his head?”

_Every Dracula needs a Renfield._

At least that helped to narrow down whether this was really happening or not. Stiles didn’t know who ‘Renfield’ was. He hadn’t read Dracula. He meant to, he certainly wanted to, but his ADHD hadn’t allowed it. His book report skills were such that he could quite expertly deliver a review without ever touching the source material and that was precisely what he’d done.

So he was definitely possessed by an evil fox spirit.

Great.

He was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of buckles being closed on the other side of the basement. Looking over, he noticed that Malia was being restrained in a similar fashion. Would she be able to break through those restraints when she woke up? Just how strong were they? Just how strong was a werecoyote?

“Just let her go.”

Great, now he was bargaining with a hallucination.

_Let me in._

Stiles struggled against his restraints again. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, maybe that they would magically have become looser in the minutes since he’d last tried. When people made restraints to keep crazy people down, they really made them well. He had started to wonder what sort of factory would do so; and how the double stitching made them stronger, when he caught himself. He couldn't afford to go off on one of those tangents now, not when everything was so precarious.

_Stiles, do you want her to leave here alive?_

He started finding it difficult to breathe and he willed his body not to have a panic attack. Now was not the time for him to be anymore hobbled than he was. He concentrated on his breathing for several seconds, forcing himself to take deep breaths and holding them a moment before letting them go.

Stiles followed the hallucination with his eyes as it stalked around the room, still straining against the bonds that held him.

_Do you want us to leave? We can walk out of this place._

He hated that it referred to them as 'us'. He was nothing to do with this. If he could die here, it would die with him. He was just gearing up to shout at Oliver, goad him in to killing him, when Oliver finished restraining Malia, tugging on the last strap and picking up the drill as he did so. A cold wave of fear flooded through Stiles.

“Just let her go, please.”

He knew his eyes were wet, knew that he was rapidly losing any control he may have had of the situation; but he couldn’t stop the tears falling. He also knew he was begging; but had absolutely no qualms in doing so. If it worked, he could sort his pride out later.

Pulling at the buckled straps seemed to be having no effect; but it didn’t stop him from continuing to strain against them, even as he was rapidly losing all hope that he and Malia would come out on top.

_Let me in._

Stiles screamed. It wasn’t even a word, just an exclamation of this utterly ridiculous situation he was in. He nearly wrenched his shoulder pulling at the damn cuffs that were securing him to the chair, trying to come up with something – anything – that could get them out of this. He didn't stop struggling, stopped caring that he was crying, just wanted this over with.

_Let me in, Stiles._

Oliver was stroking Malia’s head almost tenderly, advancing on her with the drill as he did so. Stiles bit down on the comment he was about to make. It didn’t matter at the moment anyway, ‘get your hands off her’ and ‘get that drill away from her head’ were pretty much synonymous.

_Let me in._

“Just let her go, PLEASE!”

The drill started up and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. He was going to have to watch an evil fox spirit kill a girl he thought he might actually have liked. To hell with Beacon Hills.

_Let me in, Stiles._

No. 

He wasn’t going to let it in. He knew what happened if he was weak, if he let it have free reign. The last time he'd accidentally let it in, the last time he'd tortured Scott. No, he wasn't letting it in this time.

_Let me in._

No. 

It didn’t matter how many times it asked, he wasn’t going to let it get to him, the answer was always and forever going to be ‘No’.

The drill was getting dangerously close to Malia’s still sleeping form. Stiles could see the metal whirring so fast it was barely recognisable for the threat it was. He was going to sit here, impotently attempting to free himself, while she died. He was going to be haunted by yet one more body. How many bodies had he seen at this point? Did it even really matter? He was likely to be one soon enough, just one body in the line of bodies in this stupid town. This would kill his Dad. He'd pleaded to be put in here, told his Dad it was the safest place for him and he'd ended up lying to him. Just one more thing that he'd done wrong.

Logically (and he was fed up with his ability to think ‘logically’) he knew that the Nogitsune, or Oliver he supposed, would come for him next. It would probably torture him, asking him to let it in and the pain would be over. He wondered how long he’d last, whether he’d be able to withstand torture at all. Would he cave as soon as the pain became too much? He liked to think he wouldn’t; but no-one truly knew until they were in that situation.

_You let me in…_

No.

_…I’ll let her live._

No. 

He glanced across again at Malia and that was a mistake. The drill was nearly at her temple. Soon he’d see blood, bone and brain matter. Soon he’d be screaming.  
Still, it didn’t matter - one life for the many. He could do this. He would mourn her, it would be awful; but he could do this.

_Let._

No. 

The drill moved ever closer.

_Me._

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t watch her die, couldn’t watch anyone die like this. It could have been a perfect stranger and he knew he still wouldn’t have been able to watch them die. He wasn’t calculating, wasn’t able to see things in stark black and white. He felt deeply and always had.

_In._

In the end it was as simple as that. 

It wasn't a choice at all really, he’d been fooling himself that it had been. He wasn't going to let someone die when there was something he could do to stop it, however high the price was - he just wasn't wired that way. 

He closed his eyes, the tears streaming down his face and he just gave in. It was as simple as breathing one breath to the next. It even felt kind of peaceful, not having to fight anymore, not worrying about his strength. His strength had been shown as lacking and he could own that now. He was weak and he now knew it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

The Nogitsune was honourable in it's own way, it did let her live, which Stiles supposed was the silver lining to this particularly epic cloud.

As he 'woke up', trapped in his mind's prison (and how apt was it that his mind's prison was an approximation of a locker he'd been shoved in so many times he'd lost count?) one thought rattled around his head as the Nogitsune laughed gleefully.

**What had he done?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I had to google to write this fic:
> 
> ♣ How much Haliperidol was an overdose;  
> ♣ What being tazed felt like; and   
> ♣ At what age coyotes mated in the wild.
> 
> I hope no-one 'important' looks at my search history. They're either going to be very confused or I'm going to be in a lot of accidental trouble.


End file.
